If You Give a House a Friendship
by thatdeafchick
Summary: Wilson sighed and followed him. "It never ends, does it?" he asked.


If You Give a House a Friendship. . .

BY thatdeafchick

*A/N: Hi. This is my first fanfic. Critique welcome, but please be gentle. I'm just getting into writing, so you might not see me around very often, but if you do, feel free to say hi!

Gregory House was many things; a doctor, a genius, a part-time comedian, an addict, an ass, and finally, a friend. One thing he was not, however (Wilson thought, staring blankly at the ceiling pattern), was a good housemate. He went to bed too late, got up even later; left coffee stains and grounds on the counter top; snored, drank, swore, yelled; never put the milk away correctly and left fallen ice cubes to thaw into a puddle on the kitchen floor.

Wilson sighed and sat up, not even bothering to check the time. House snored loudly in the next room as he showered and got ready for work. He decided early on (grumbling as rinsed a couple of dishes off and placed them in the dishwasher) that today would be a House-free day, or as close to one as he would get. He straightened his tie in the mirror, checked that not a single hair was out of place, then grabbed his briefcase and left. House wouldn't even be awake for another forty minutes or so. If he'd really wanted to slow House down, he thought, he should have hidden his cane. But that would just put him in a bad mood, and knowing him, he'd show up using a broom or a curtain rod for support, scowling at anyone who bothered to ask if he needed help. And then, after he managed to make it onto the elevator, there would be no time wasted. He would find Wilson, assuming the misplacement of his cane to be his fault, and make him pay.

No, let him keep the cane. He took his sweet time getting to work, anyway.

Wilson happy smiled to himself, climbing into his car. "Today is going to be a great day," he told his reflection in the rearview mirror, and then quickly started the car and pulled away, stopping only for a coffee.

When he made it to his office and sat down, he was happy to see that only two patients would receive life-altering news today; the rest were all check ups for recovering patients. He was especially excited to see Miranda, a young mother who underwent cancer treatment while pregnant. She would show him the most recent picture of her little girl, as she always did, and Wilson would smile and comment on how big she'd gotten. It made him feel good to know he had had such a positive impact on someones life...though whenever he saw the angelic baby girl, he was always struck with a powerful feeling of envy.

He could feel his chest grow heavy with those same feelings, and regarded his Styrofoam cup of coffee with a sad look. Just then, his ringtone began playing. He jumped up and gasped, then frowned, one hand over his wildly-beating heart.

"I wonder," he said to himself, pulling the phone from his pocket. It read: **HOUSE.** Sighing, he flipped the phone open and put it to his ear. "Yes?"

_'Are you at work already?'_

"Yeah."

_'Why?'_

He sighed and rubbed his brow. "I don't know," he said, shrugging. "I like work?"

_'Riiight.'_

"Not _everyone_ hates their job just because you do."

_'I don't hate my job, I just hate the people I'm forced to interact with.'_

Wilson sighed and finished the rest of his coffee. "Is there a reason you're calling me? And why aren't you still sleeping? You aren't even on for another hour."

_'I know my schedule, thanks.'_Something metal rattled in the background. An image of pots and pans came to Wilson's mind. Why House just couldn't eat leftovers, he didn't understand. _'And I wanted to know if you're up for drinks tonight with Chase and his new lady friend.'_

"Tonight?" What he'd wanted to do was spend the night elbow deep in a tub of popcorn watching Star Wars. "I'll have to see. Why are you going out for drinks with Chase and his date, anyway?"

_'She's not so much a date as she is an ex-stripper with stripper friends. And it's not so much drinks as it is a private...'_ House paused, searching for something witty to say. _'Look. Free lap dances. If you refuse a free lap dance, there's something wrong with you** I** can't even diagnose.'_

Wilson rubbed his brow. Phone conversations were even harder than face to face ones. He swore, for every five minutes spent on the phone with House, he aged at least a year. "And Chase is sharing this with you, because...?"

_'He's trying to make sure I don't fire him. I think it's working, so long as he keeps sharing the wealth. Are you in or out?'_

"I don't know!"

_'Well don't take all day deciding.'_

"Maybe you should have said something last night," Wilson said in annoyance.

_'But then we wouldn't have had anything to talk about today.'_

"I'm hanging up now."

_'Think about it!'_

"Probably not. I've got a lot to do today. I'm going to be pretty busy." His window of escape was getting smaller and smaller. He had to seal the deal for there to be even the smallest chance of getting out of a social engagement. But then he went and said, "I'll think about it."

By the time the call ended, he was nothing more than a lifeless, suited blob, barely able to sit up. He went to take one last sip of coffee, and, realizing it to be empty, threw it out; put his phone away, and gathered up a file. There was work to be done.

* * *

><p>Fortunately for sixteen year old Dane Wallace, his form of cancer was treatable and very responsive to therapy. Unfortunately for him, Wilson thought with a strained smile and a stiff wave, his mother would now want to keep him within the confines of her own little bubble, away from self harm, and probably from many normal teenage experiences. He watched the pothering mother protectively ushering the sixteen year old down the hall and to the elevator. Still, it was a good prognosis, given the situation. If only thirty year old Myron Hicks had the same odds. No, his case was much more serious, and sadly much more final. If luck was on his side, he could manage to live for a whole year; possibly even two.<p>

He turned to go back into his office when he heard a familiar click, click somewhere nearby. That could only mean one thing: House. Had an hour passed already? He shook his arm, watch falling loosely around his wrist, and looked at it. An hour and twenty minutes. House was late. Big surprise.

"It isn't safe here," Wilson breathed dramatically, heading down the opposite hall. He would completely miss House, take the elevator, and hide someplace else. The clinic? No. Last time he'd been looking for House, there was a rather Scooby-Doo-esque room-search; House leaving rooms and seeking new ones the instant Wilson stopped to peek into another room.

The elevator was in clear sight. "Safe!" he cried, smacking the button on the wall and waiting for the door to open. As he stepped inside, he heard House calling for him.

"No fair! You played dirty!" House limped faster. "So are you coming or not?"

"Go away!" Wilson called back, jabbing the elevator button. "Can't I get a day to myself?"

"What for?" House asked, as though it were the strangest request he had ever heard. "Cancer is your only hobby, Wilson. Well, that and show tunes."

Wilson watched the door close, but then, suddenly wanting the last word, stopped it with his hand. "Be that as it may, do you really have to stalk me?"

A middle-aged man, looking extremely uncomfortable, cleared his throat, as though to ask if Wilson was going to get on or continue his chat.

"I'm not stalking you."

"Really? Then what's this?" Wilson made a gesture to himself and then House. "What _is _this?"

"This is confirming. It only looks like stalking."

"I go to work, you're there, I come, you're here- you're always there, House! You're smothering me! I can't breathe!"

The man behind Wilson frowned and squeezed his way out of the elevator, opting to take the stairs instead, though Wilson hardly even noticed.

"Oh, please, I'm not smothering you." he said with an unconcerned roll of his eyes.

"You're incredible." Wilson blinked, and then blinked again. "You're like an overbearing mother."

House leaned into his cane, saying, "Time's ticking. Need to know."

The door began to shut again. Wilson glared as it did. "I dislike you."

There was only one solution. He rode the elevator down to the first floor, and sprinted to Cuddy's office as fast as his legs would carry him. He would have to play the game and tattle on House like a six year old on the playground. He gathered up what little courage and assertiveness he had and stepped inside.

"You need to do something about House, he's driving me up a wall!"

"Sit," Cuddy snapped, pointing with the butt of her pen to a chair.

Wilson came to a complete stop and obediently obeyed, though severely confused. "Um," he began, but Cuddy cut him off again.

"Sh!" She did not look happy. She resumed scribbling something down and looking over a few files. A few seconds later, the doors opened again. She set the pen down and looked up, the irritation on her face clear.

"Hiding in Cuddy's office?" House jeered, limping to a stop. "That's low, even for you."

"Shut up, House," Cuddy said. "Guess who I just spoke with?" She looked to Wilson, who was still clueless, and then to House, eyebrows raised expectantly. "I just spoke with Mr. Knavel."

A beat of silence passed. House said, "So? Who's that?"

"He's a patient," Cuddy explained. "A very unsatisfied patient."

"What's wrong with him?" House questioned, face twisted up into a concentrated look.

"He's neither of your patients."

Wilson asked, "So, then, why are you upset with us?"

"Because Mr. Knavel was on his way out of here when you two held him up on the elevator. He said you two were arguing."

Wilson immediately paled. "I'm sorry, that's my fault. I was annoyed-"

Cuddy held her hand up. "There's more. Not only did he say how unprofessional it was, arguing in front of patients, but the fact that you were bringing a struggling romance into the workplace-"

"A struggling romance?" House looked at Wilson, who blinked furiously.

"He thought you were a couple."

Wilson threw his hands up. "Why does everyone think we're gay?"

"More importantly," Cuddy began, flicking her angry eyes from one to the other, "why can't either of you contain your immaturely to your offices, like normal people?" Her expression softened markedly, then. "I don't care who started it, but it was probably House, so you're off the hook, Wilson-"

"Hey!" House interjected.

"-but I can't have you holding up the elevators and bickering in front of patients." House rolled his eyes and looked off to the side. Wilson nodded, sweaty hands gripping the armrests. "That's pretty much it."

House asked her in a mocking voice, "Are you done?"

"Yes." She picked back up her pen.

Wilson stood and smoothed out the front of his shirt, suddenly remembering the reason he barged in unannounced in the first place.

"Good. C'mon, Wilson."

"Oh, and leave Wilson alone."

"What?" House said, looking outraged. "No. He's mine."

"He's not a dog." Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"That doesn't make him not mine."

"Whatever. Look. I don't have time for this." She waved her hand over her desk. "Leave him alone or I'm docking you."

House thought for a long moment. "For how long?"

Cuddy sighed irritably and looked up from her paperwork. "For the rest of the day. I don't know. I've got work to do, so," she motioned with her pen for them to leave.

"Fine."

Cuddy joined Wilson in a perplexed stare.

Wilson blinked. "Fine what?"

"I'll leave you alone." He pretended to pay attention to his cane. "If you say yes to tonight." Cuddy still looked confused, so he leaned in and said in a low voice, "strippers. We hit the jack pot. Well, Chase did. Wilson and I are just going to tag along."

Cuddy forced an clearly exaggerated smile. "Great. Now go."

House ignored Cuddy. "Deal?"

Wilson sighed and ran a hand through his hair; paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You mean it? You'll really leave me alone? You promise?"

"Swear to God," House replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Oh no, no, no," Wilson began, pointing. "I'm not falling for that."

Behind them, Cuddy sighed loudly. "Trying to work."

"Fine. I swear to Jenna Jameson." House held his hand out.

Wilson suspiciously regarded the hand for several moments, feeling his resolve begin to crumble. He sighed and shook the hand. "Fine. Deal."

House, looking rather pleased with himself, left; leaving Wilson behind. He looked over at Cuddy who looked incredibly bored.

"Can't say no, can you?" she teased.

"I know, I'm pathetic." Wilson hung his head. "Any chance I could get put on the list for a donor spine?"

"I doubt it," Cuddy said with a smirk, returning to her work.

"Guess I better go enjoy what freedom I have left," and wandered out of her office. Though he didn't know what he was complaining about- House did promise strippers. As he made his way onto the elevator beside House, he thought about his day. All in all, not too bad. He must have been staring vacantly into space, because as House was getting off, he said, "After tonight, you'll be glad you met me. Oh, and bring beer. I'm brokeski."

Wilson sighed and followed him. "It never ends, does it?" he asked.

"Nope," House answered. They walked side by side until they eventually went their separate ways. "Not til one of us dies."


End file.
